


Day of remembrance

by Eledhwen



Series: Fratt Week 2020 [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anniversary, Feelings, Fratt Week 2020, Gen, Gotta stop meeting in cemeteries, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24404059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: Fratt Week Day 3 prompt: 'Date'He hates this date. It’s been over twenty years, and he still hates it.
Series: Fratt Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759558
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Fratt Week





	Day of remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Today, I think I succeeded in not breaking the rules of the challenge and actually writing a purely Fratt friendship fic. Yay me.

He hates this date. It’s been over twenty years, and he still hates it. Inevitably, he wakes up in the morning with his sheets twisted about his body, still feeling his father’s blood on his hands. Every year, he spends the week before counting down the days, and the day afterwards trying to forget.

He uses Daredevil as an outlet for the nagging anticipation, hitting a bit harder, staying out a bit longer, but if he’s honest it doesn’t help.

This year, he wakes as usual, sweat beading on his brow, and lies there for a few moments letting full awareness creep in. It is a Sunday, this year, and the block is full of Sunday morning sounds: the couple on the second floor having morning sex, the smell of bacon being cooked by the old man on the first floor, the kids on the third watching cartoons.

Matt rolls out of bed, rubs a hand over his face, and checks the time. It’s only 8 in the morning and he has the whole day before he can work out his memories on some unsuspecting criminal. He pads through to the living room, grabs a glass of water and goes through his morning stretching ritual, before showering and picking out a suit from his wardrobe.

The ritual of Mass is calming, as he focuses on the incense and the liturgy. Afterwards, he avoids Sister Maggie – he knows she is watching him from across the church, but she does not approach him. He leaves without acknowledging her, instead going out to hail a cab to his usual destination, on this date.

In the cemetery, Matt lays down the flowers he bought at the store near the entrance, and reaches out to trace his fingers over his father’s name and dates. And then, like every year, he stands, and remembers.

* * *

Frank wakes up with a raging hangover. He always drinks, the night before their birthdays, one of the few times he lets himself go a bit. This time it’s been cheap whisky and the taste is stale in his mouth. It’s already late, and he makes himself a strong coffee to wash the alcohol from his throat and his system, and showers, and then spends some time flicking through his photos on his phone.

He misses them. He misses her, his sweet, beautiful daughter, who would have been thirteen today. He wonders if he’ll ever stop missing them, ever stop waking up on their birthdays and feeling an aching, empty void in his heart. He doesn’t ever want to forget, but he sure as hell wants to stop the constant knowledge of loss.

On the subway he studies his fingernails, picking at some bit of dirt underneath one of them, and makes sure he does not make eye contact with anyone.

It’s a Sunday, so there are a few people in the cemetery. Frank treads the well-known path to his family’s graves, and settles down by them. He wonders what Lisa would have been like, as a teenager. Would she have been sulky? Would she have started flirting with boys, experimenting with makeup, or would she have been studious? She’d have been beautiful, he knows that much; beautiful like Maria.

He stays there for half an hour, thinking, remembering, talking to them in his head, and then he rubs at his eyes and gets up.

* * *

Matt stirs from his vigil after some time, takes a deep breath in, and flicks out his cane. He knows the way back to the cemetery entrance, of course, but there are other people around and appearances to be maintained. He tries not to focus much on other mourners’ grief, for it would be overwhelming, but as he turns on to the main path back to the gate he registers a familiar presence – a heartbeat and a particular smell that he would know anywhere. He wonders whether to pretend that he hasn’t noticed Frank Castle, who is turning on to the path from the other side of the cemetery, but the other man has clearly noticed him, and so Matt stops and waits.

“We gotta stop meeting in cemeteries,” Castle says, in a slightly forced effort at humour.

Matt manages a half-smile. He gets the sense that Castle isn’t really smiling either.

“I didn’t realise your family were here,” he says, making a guess at why Castle is visiting the cemetery.

“Yeah. You?”

“My dad,” Matt says. “It’s … today’s the anniversary of the day he was shot.”

“It’s my daughter’s birthday,” Castle says. After a pause, he adds, “she’d have been thirteen. I try and come, remember them, a few times a year.”

“Birthdays and death days,” Matt agrees. “Do you – does it help?”

“A bit,” Castle says, with a grunt. “Does it help you?”

Matt considers. “No,” he admits.

* * *

Frank is not expecting to see someone he knows in the cemetery, but there he is: his erstwhile lawyer and regular pain in the night-time ass, Matthew Murdock, wrapped up in an old coat and a big scarf, red shades on, cane out. He wonders whether to say anything to the guy, but Murdock’s head shifts and Frank knows he’s been spotted.

He makes a weak joke, and is rewarded with a wry smile. When Murdock asks if the visit has helped, Frank has to admit it has, a little. He’s surprised when Murdock answers to the contrary.

“It’s not just the date my dad died,” Murdock expands. “It was … even after the accident,” he waves his hand at his eyes, “it was okay, me and my dad. It was safe. This day, just reminds me when everything was pulled away from me.” His fingers twist on the cane handle.

“What does help?” Frank wants to know.

Murdock huffs out a short laugh. “What do you think?” He almost looks directly at Frank from behind the red shades.

“Ah,” Frank says, understanding. Daredevil will be on the hunt tonight.

They reach the exit. “Any cabs around?” Murdock asks.

Frank glances around, and spots a yellow cab approaching on the other side of the street. He sticks an arm out for it.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Thanks,” Murdock says. “Well.”

Frank wonders if he’s about to get another lecture about not killing people, but instead Murdock simply shrugs, folds his cane and opens the cab door. “Look after yourself, Frank,” he says, and the cab drives off.

He turns in the other direction, for the subway, and his own date with whatever the night will bring.


End file.
